The Hate U Give(25)
“I see. What happened next?”
“The officer forced Khalil out the car.”
“Forced?” she says.
“Yes, ma’am. He pulled him out.”
“Because Khalil was hesitant, right?”
Momma makes this throaty sound, like she was about to say something but stopped herself. She purses her lips and rubs my back in circles.
I remember what Daddy said—“Don’t let them put words in your mouth.”
“No, ma’am,” I say to Gomez. “He was getting out on his own, and the officer yanked him the rest of the way.”
She says “I see” again, but she didn’t see it so she probably doesn’t believe it. “What happened next?” she asks.
“The officer patted Khalil down three times.”
“Three?”
Yeah. I counted. “Yes, ma’am. He didn’t find anything. He then told Khalil to stay put while he ran his license and registration.”
“But Khalil didn’t stay put, did he?” she says.
“He didn’t pull the trigger on himself either.”
Shit. Your fucking big mouth.
The detectives glance at each other. A moment of silent conversation.
The walls move in closer. The grip around my lungs returns. I pull my shirt away from my neck.
“I think we’re done for today,” Momma says, taking my hand as she starts to stand up.
“But Mrs. Carter, we’re not finished.”
“I don’t care—”
“Mom,” I say, and she looks down at me. “It’s okay. I can do this.”
She gives them a glare similar to the one she gives me and my brothers when we’ve pushed her to her limit. She sits down but holds on to my hand.
“Okay,” Gomez says. “So he patted Khalil down and told him he would check his license and registration. What next?”
“Khalil opened the driver’s side door and—”
Pow!
Pow!
Pow!
Blood.
Tears crawl down my cheeks. I wipe them on my arm. “The officer shot him.”
“Do you—” Gomez starts, but Momma holds a finger toward her.
“Could you please give her a second,” she says. It sounds more like an order than a question.
Gomez doesn’t say anything. Wilkes scribbles some more.
My mom wipes some of my tears for me. “Whenever you’re ready,” she says.
I swallow the lump in my throat and nod.
“Okay,” Gomez says, and takes a deep breath. “Do you know why Khalil came to the door, Starr?”
“I think he was coming to ask if I was okay.”
“You think?”
I’m not a telepath. “Yes, ma’am. He started asking but didn’t finish because the officer shot him in the back.”
More salty tears fall on my lips.
Gomez leans across the table. “We all want to get to the bottom of this, Starr. We appreciate your cooperation. I understand this is hard right now.”
I wipe my face on my arm again. “Yeah.”
“Yeah.” She smiles and says in that same sugary, sympathetic tone, “Now, do you know if Khalil sold narcotics?”
Pause.
What the fuck?
My tears stop. For real, my eyes get dry with the quickness. Before I can say anything, my mom goes, “What does that have to do with anything?”
“It’s only a question,” Gomez says. “Do you, Starr?”
All the sympathy, the smiles, the understanding. This chick was baiting me.
Investigating or justifying?
I know the answer to her question. I knew it when I saw Khalil at the party. He never wore new shoes. And jewelry? Those little ninety-nine-cent chains he bought at the beauty supply store didn’t count. Ms. Rosalie just confirmed it.
But what the hell does that have to do with him getting murdered? Is that supposed to make all of this okay?
Gomez tilts her head. “Starr? Can you please answer the question?”
I refuse to make them feel better about killing my friend.
I straighten up, look Gomez dead in her eyes, and say, “I never saw him sell drugs or do drugs.”
“But do you know if he sold them?” she asks.
“He never told me he did,” I say, which is true. Khalil never flat-out admitted it to me.
“Do you have knowledge of him selling them?”
“I heard things.” Also true.
She sighs. “I see. Do you know if he was involved with the King Lords?”
“No.”
“The Garden Disciples?”
“No.”
“Did you consume any alcohol at the party?” she asks.
I know that move from Law & Order. She’s trying to discredit me. “No. I don’t drink.”
“Did Khalil?”
“Whoa, wait one second,” Momma says. “Are y’all putting Khalil and Starr on trial or the cop who killed him?”
Wilkes looks up from his notes.
“I—I don’t quite understand, Mrs. Carter?” Gomez sputters.
“You haven’t asked my child about that cop yet,” Momma says. “You keep asking her about Khalil, like he’s the reason he’s dead. Like she said, he didn’t pull the trigger on himself.”